Piermont Letter 1
The following letter was written by Rev Piermont just after the events at the Knudsen Farm. Letter Dearest Mary, I reckon it would be hard for you to comprehend the emptiness I felt when I crossed the threshold of our abode to discover only the note you had left me. I know my ways have caused you fits, but I am certain these troubles are short lived. I need, more than anything to talk to you. So, while you enjoy the company of your sister and her family, I will write. In my imagination, I can draw you nearer with this thin rope of ink. Before a single boot of mine had rested on the station floor it came to my attention that the Lieutenant was looking for me. So, while I wanted coffee mighty bad, as we had none at the house, I did what was right and found him. The assignment seemed simple enough. Do you remember the Knudsens? We used to buy carrots and sometimes potatoes from them at the Dawson street market. Doing business with them was somewhat like using a cactus to rest, but their prices were too low to resist. Anyway, it seems the senior of the group had borrowed a considerable sum from Lord Worthy and refused to pay it back. The good Lord, in his great consideration, had offered a provision to keep him from debtor's prison. Instead, he only asked for the man's property. Given his age and the fact he had grown sons, I expected it to be a sad, but easy, eviction. The only indication that this was not true was the number of men I was given to perform my duty. Doc, of course, went with me. You might remember him from the one time we could arrange to break bread with him. You'll remember he sat transfixed for a good long time starring at the mash, after we mentioned an incident the neighbors had, had with food poisoning. You see the wheels turning, deciding then second guessing himself, as his hand twitched to either pass the bowl on, or take some for himself. After he retired from our meal, which took three times longer than expected, I think you described him as humorless, odd and an inflicter of long suffering. In spite of myself, the thought of him setting there with no right course of action and you desiring to whomp him with the handle of a spoon, still brings a smile to my face. In addition to Doc, who I'm with all the time, I was finally paired with Isaiah Skinner. You will, of course, remember him as young Master Skinner from the church. He and his Mother would often sit near the back away from the parishioners. They continually wore winter clothing to conceal the bruises Isaiah's father would leave when he came from the Alhambra Saloon all roostered up. It was hard not to be taken with him, in such a sorry state. do you remember the little candies we would sneak him? Just as we looked after him then, I hoped I could do the same under my watch. The last man to join us, one who had worked with Isaiah on patrols was Zedekiah "Zed" Lamont. I knew he was a good Peacekeeper from a line of Peacekeepers, but in the station he always struck me as cold. He was never on the shoot or ornery, but made of steel, like a knife, which doesn't care if it is a steak or your finger it cut. The law without compassion. I would rather have him on my side than have to face him, but his presence made me nervous. As we approached the Knudsen farm it was clearly being worked, but the workers had already retired for the day. Given the light that would be left it seemed a bit odd to us, but not a great cause for alarm. Isaiah, after seeing this decided to round the house at a great distance. Some part of me was thankful for this, as if anything went wrong he would be safely at one distance from us. The boy would be preserved for another day. We tied our horses to the apple tree in the front of the yard and I, being responsible for the success of this operation, knocked on the door. For a long time no one answered, long enough, as a matter of fact, Doc, who was practically and uncertainly, standing in the road, mentioned he thought no one was home. I could see moment, even hear the pitter patter of people inside. I told him as much and he got what you might understand as the mash look. Eventually they did open the door and did allow us entry, but something was amiss. I did my duty, reading the legal notice and I begged for them to consider their options. I tried to show them the light of mercy the One True God had shined upon them, but they would have nothing of it. They wanted to fight, even knowing the danger. My heart sank when I realized that honer and pride had caused any hope for an easy eviction o go up in flame. A man, his wife and sons, seemingly good folks, were about to force my hand. I can see the moment before the bloodshed began. The doctor nervously looked like he wanted to run. Zed seemed to be intimidating one of the sons, daring him to act. Sam, the father, was lifting his double barreled shotgun from the arm of his wheelchair. I can feel myself stepping forward to relieve the old man of his gun, but instead of thinking of the danger, I'm thinking of Isaiah. I'm relieved he doesn't have to be here for this. The details of the fight are more tragic than I can bear to share with you, but I will say it was rough, the roughest I've ever seen and you know I have seen a good scrap before. Zed was perhaps the most unbelievable fighter I have ever seen, a pistol in one hand and a huge knife in the other. He was a tumbleweed of razor wire in a tornado. Doc and I did our part, but for the bulk of the fight we played second fiddle. Suddenly, into the midst of this broken family, Isaiah was there and he's not the boy we used to sneak candy to. He's a man, a peacemaker. I am at once wishing that he was still outside, but pleased to see his bravery. I watch him as a father would, while we fight together. At the end, when the fight has all but been won, I see Isaiah drop his iron, probably empty, and expertly draw his bow. Mary, he had transformed so fast. He looked down at the man flailing with a pig sticker at his feet. He doesn't look as a warrior, but as a hunter, coldly lining up his arrow for the kill shot. He might have stepped on him to hold him still, I'm not sure, but the man was killed as a deer. Our duty had been fulfilled, but I couldn't but feel like I had failed. Zed had been gut shot, which Doc said looked worse than it actually was. I kept Isaiah safe, but I don't think it was enough. I have no money for the candy I want to buy and even if I had the candy, it seems I have no boy to give it to anymore. At the station I found bullet holes in my clothes, but no marks underneath. It didn't make me feel lucky, I'm ashamed to say it terrified me. Realizing how close I came made me hurt for the children we have never been blessed with. Nearly poured out completely. Mary, you know I'm rotten with a needle and thread. I wish you were here to patch the holes. Your Loving Husband, Piermont